


A summer day in winter

by kazarina



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: 5+1 Things, Auguste is still dead sorry, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, M/M, POV Damen (Captive Prince), Pining, Sweet Ending, artist!laurent, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:29:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27190063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazarina/pseuds/kazarina
Summary: A fleeting moment of triumph coursed through him, despite the ridiculousness of the situation, followed closely by vague half-formed thoughts of meeting the stranger again. But that soon dissipated into disappointment, dull as a grey cloud hung around too long. After walking through all four platforms of the station, Damen was forced to accept that he had lost him again. There weren’t even words for it. How do you lose something you never had?Aka, five times Damen did not get to meet Laurent, one time he did, and what happened after.
Relationships: Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)
Comments: 50
Kudos: 78





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"If every dream awakes to me, awakes to you. If every clock, turns back to me, turns back to you"_ \- No fate awaits, Son Lux.

** I **

Damen didn’t mind the cold of winter nor its temperamental moods bringing sudden bursts of rain, always, of course, having to coincide with those times when you had somewhere important to go, or had forgotten an umbrella. But one thing he did mind was that at some point, the sun would begin to rise earlier and earlier, sending beams of light snaking in at a thoroughly unreasonable hour. Despite Damen’s best interior design efforts, those crafty little things would somehow find their way in, pressing and prodding at Damen’s eyelids, announcing their presence as loud as a trumpet beside his ear. Sometimes he fought them, rolling over and burying his face in a pillow, but most other times, he gave in and got up, resigned. 

The first thing he did in the morning was to make himself a cup of coffee with his fancy espresso machine, an item that was the result of some impulsiveness but now wholly looked on with pride. The motions were routine enough that he went through it without thinking. _Fill up the water tank. Get coffee on the top shelf. Put one large spoonful into the filter. Tamp it down. Hook the filter back into the head._ All this Damen did with his eyes half-shut. The first waft of that distinct fragrance was bliss, and the first sip – well, it might as well be heaven distilled down to its essence. Like most mornings, Damen tinkered about on his iPad as he drank his coffee, reading the news, scrolling through social media, and replying to a message or two that had fallen through the cracks. The good thing about early winter mornings was that there was no rush. When Damen felt like it, and when his cup was emptied to the very last drop, he showered, shaved, and got dressed for work. 

Chilled, fresh air came greeting as soon as Damen stepped outside, pleased that there wasn’t a drizzle in sight. The clear blue skies promised it would stay that way for at least a little while – a bonus. He walked down his street, where the only noise was the cacophony of birds, then out onto the main road and into the shopping street to get to the bus stop. From a distance, he could already tell that the bus was late, again, which meant he would have to leave work later than he intended. He tried not to be impatient about it, but it was still annoying that it would cut into his gym time. Judging from the size of the crowd, it didn’t seem so bad, so maybe it was okay after all.

Or at least that was what he thought. 

Ten minutes turned into twenty and then more, which was about the time Damen started to get frustrated. He didn’t like waiting around, wasting time when there was so much to do. The bus crowd grew and then shrunk, as some of them trudged off to the cafe behind them to buy a _second_ coffee. Ubers came and left. Disgruntled murmurs and complains were traded. They all shuffled about the same spot restlessly. 

Damen tried to while his time away by casting his eyes about, but there wasn’t anything of interest. At seven in the morning, all the shops were shut and only one cafe was opened, a Veretian one, but modern with rustic, eclectic deco, and plants dangling their vines down every nook. Damen idly watched the comings and goings, resolute that he would not be one of those people glued to their phones. 

That was when he saw him.

Crouched over one of the outdoor bench tables, he had been partially shielded by three men in sharp suits, their folders and papers strewn messily about the shared table. Damen noticed them as they stood up to leave, curious at first of the kind of business meeting would take place so early in the morning. When the trio parted ways and wandered off separately, Damen saw first a head of blond silk-fine hair bowed down at the innermost seat, next to the faded brick walls of the café. The sun had peeked out of the clouds and turned his hair into soft gold. His side profile revealed fair skin and delicate features as he hunched over his hands, the sides of his bare arms braced against the rough wood of the bench top. He was distinctly Veretian, though here in Marlas, that was not unusual, and at this particular café, he certainly blended in well with the clientele. What did stand out was that his coffee sat somewhat out of reach, sending coiling curls of steam into the crisp morning air. It was a tempting enough sight that Damen had to stand firm against a moment of longing, telling himself that no, he really ought not to have two cups within an hour. 

After some time had passed, Damen began to realise that something was not quite right. The stranger was still as stone, and had not moved since Damen first noticed him. He was dressed simply and wore no sweater. And sure, Veretians in general tended to prefer the cold, but surely not to this extent? Damen began to wonder if he was okay. Should he ask? It didn’t seem right to just ignore. Perhaps he was having a bad day, and could use a friend? Perhaps he had forgotten his coat? But if he was cold, he was certainly not showing it. Would it be too presumptuous? 

A nudge at Damen’s arm drew his attention away. 

“He’s a looker eh?”

When Damen turned around, he was met with a man twice his age, an irritating smug grin stretched out on his face that Damen felt immediately an urge to swing at and break apart. He breathed in steadily, holding the outrage within him at bay. He wasn’t sixteen anymore. He should be able to rein himself in.

Annoyed that Damen had dared to ignore him, the man rapped at Damen’s shoulder with the back of his palm. This time, he whispered, “Bet he would loosen up for the right cock.” 

“Don’t talk about him like that.” Damen growled at him. “Show some fucking respect.” It drew a few stares from around them. 

The man’s face twisted into something resembling a toad. “Hey, no need to act as if you’re all high and mighty!”

There were times where Damen did his best to appear less intimidating, aware that he was, as his father described, built like a bear and just as quick to anger. This was not one of those times. He let a breath out, and turned fully to consider the man before him. Wisely deciding not to pit himself against Damen, he tottered off to bother someone else. 

But doubt had already begun to seep in. Damen didn’t want to approach the stranger looking like a creep, especially one that possessed the sort of classic Veretian beauty that was, as it turned out, just as likely to attract the wrong sort of attention. Indecision stayed Damen’s hand. He stole a few more worried glances at the stranger, but found him near-catatonic each time. 

Finally, after almost forty minutes, the bus arrived to half-hearted Monday-blues cheers. Damen gave one last look at the young Veretian, and then climbed on the bus. As they pulled away from the curb, he saw him stand up, wrap his arms around himself forlornly and walk away. His coffee was left completely untouched on the table, a single lonely item on the bench top. 

** II **

Damen generally thought he had a pretty good life. At twenty-nine, his career was falling into place. He had just last year landed a role as a manager in a large technology organisation, and it was the best decision he had made so far. One of the senior executives had taken a liking to a proposal he had written, and decided to put him in charge of a new fringe team whose sole direction of work was to think out of the box, to radically change the way they operated, and to invest and discover new technologies. It was a concept called disruptive innovation, which Damen had never heard of, but once he did, it felt like an odd déjà vu feeling of coming home, as comfortable as shrugging on a second skin. This was the way he had always been, creative, questioning, non-conforming, and for the first time in his life, it was not seen as something to be tempered down. 

Within several months, his team of thirty with a range of diverse skills had produced some really great ideas. This, Damen thought, was largely due to the exceptional quality of the hand-picked team. No one could be more proud. Well, except his father, probably. Theo grew up as a factory worker, toiling for half his life in manual labour before he rose through the ranks. He believed that hard work and determination would get you anywhere you wanted in life, and that to rise to the top ranks was especially important, because it meant that no one else could order you about. Nothing pleased him more than to hear that Damen’s reporting line was only two skips away from the CEO of the company, and Damen did not have the heart to explain that it was only because of the nature of the team. He did not, in fact, have any more authority that he used to have.

Damen’s family got along better than most. And if Kastor was an asshole sometimes, well, he was still his brother. Besides, Damen was always happy to share something as superficial as money. And while dating hadn’t been particularly successful, it was still fun as a casual thing. Damen did have some truly phenomenal friends though. In fact, one of the best parts of his life was the friendship he had with Nik. Growing up together as children, there was always an easy understanding between them, a steady current that did not diminish even when they grew up and their lives went into different directions. 

It was not easy to catch up as often as Damen would have liked once they both started working, though to be fair, it was usually his fault. He was the one that more often got busy with the new people in his life, finding himself occupied with different interests at different times. It was Nik that kept in touch, dropping by Damen’s home as if it was his home and making himself a part of Damen’s life. He was the level-headed one, keeping Damen in check, helping him turn his mad ideas into realistic ones. Truly, he wouldn’t know what he would do without Nik.

Easily distracted as Damen was, he had forgotten all about the sad stranger he had seen that one time at the bus stop until chance decided they should meet again. 

This time, the bus was running as per usual so there were only a handful of them standing around the bus stop. Café d’Arles was uncrowded in the outdoors sitting area; it was too early and too cold, and any moment now, it seemed the grey skies would give way to torrents of rain. No one in their right mind would sit outdoors, except for, well, the strange Veretian. Smooth sleek hair fell over the side of his face as he scribbled on a notebook. He had to hold down the pages, as they were flapped and flailed about by the wind. 

Damen could not see what he was writing. He did notice his coffee though, a pretty leaf design on top of soft white foam, placed at the corner of the table presumably to prevent any accidental spillage.

He looked well this time, snug in a pale blue sweater, one of those that was made of fuzzy wool and the closest alternative to being wrapped in a blanket. 

Until he was not. 

Damen had at first, been reassured that that last time was a one-off event, and so had not given it more thought. But then the Veretian started to space out again. His pen fell out of his grip as his fingers went slack. The wind ruffled the pages of his notebook noisily until it fell shut.

The bus arrived. Damen plodded along until it was his turn to board. Again, he couldn’t stop wondering about the Veretian. He thought and thought, and then impulsively, he stepped out of the line. There was simply no harm in checking in, was there? If Damen were feeling down, he would have wanted some company as well. People ought to be nicer to other people, instead of going on about their lives, closeted in their own world. 

Carefully, Damen made his way over to the long bench table. Aware that sometimes his height made others uncomfortable, he stopped at a respectable distance from the edge. As if Damen’s presence had broke through the stranger’s stupor, the man stood up abruptly. 

“I - was just leaving.” The Veretian said, flustered, his breath almost trembling. He glanced at Damen once and then adverted his eyes quickly, and turned away to gather his things. 

All of Damen’s words crowded at the back of his throat. 

The Veretian had the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen, a captivating azure blue with a shade of gold around the center. A sheen of moisture was layered over them making him look like he was on the verge of tears.

It wasn’t like Damen to be speechless, but to speak to this stranger now, to witness this moment, especially when it was clear he did not want to be seen, felt like an intrusion. He thought he ought to turn away from him. 

The Veretian was gathering his things, dumping both the notebook and pen into his bag in swift movements. By the time he turned back, there was an emotionless mask in place.

“Are you alright?” Damen said, when he finally found his voice. 

“Yes, thank you.” He said, without looking at Damen. 

It was all over within a few moments. The Veretian clambered out of the bench seat, hurried past Damen, and was soon striding away in quick steps. Damen stared after him until his figure became a blur, unable to tell if the melancholy he was feeling belonged to him or the stranger.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _Have you ever searched for words to get you in their heart? But you don't know what to say, and you don't know where to start._ " - Have you ever loved someone, The Vocaleers

** III **

It happened on a Saturday. 

For two months, every blond head seemed to catch his eye, and in every crowd, he found himself looking, searching for something, without knowing what he was searching for. There was no connection between them, just one stranger to another, and yet, Damen was filled with insatiable curiosity. He wondered what kind of life the Veretian led. He wondered what was so upsetting. Was it financial troubles? Was it a relationship gone wrong? There were no answers, just a face that stared back at him, wide-eyed and raw emotion in a single frozen moment.

Damen had just parted ways with Nik after lunch at a new Akielon restaurant in the city, putting him in a good mood. The menu had a range of Southern Akielon cuisine that was not so common here in Marlas, sparking fond memories of his childhood summers in Ios. He really wouldn’t mind coming back now and again, but Nik didn’t think it was all that spectacular. Of course, very few restaurants actually impressed Nik, who was the sort of person that used the words “acidulate” or “al dente” when he talked about food. Those who didn’t know him well sometimes thought him pretentious, but that was only because Nik was never one to brag that he had actually been formally trained as a chef, even if he wasn’t working as one now. As Damen walked through the streets, he wondered if Nik was still planning to give up the family business for having his own restaurant one day. It had been years since he first mentioned it, and now seemed as good a time as any. Damen made a mental note to ask him about it. 

The streets were crowded with shoppers, groups of teenagers milling about, tourists alongside large coach buses, and backpackers that found interest in the most mundane features of Marlas. It was all the usual monotony, broken here and there by a loud laugh or a skateboard flying down the road, until Damen noticed a flash of gold weaving through the crowd ahead of him. Damen only caught a glimpse, but his face was instantly recognisable. He found himself taking steps in his direction before he even knew what he was doing, walking towards the train station when he didn’t even need the train. Nik would think he was mad. He was definitely mad. He stopped himself abruptly, coming to a standstill, mentally shaking himself out of it. It was absurd. There was literally nothing he could say that wouldn’t be out of place. _Excuse me, I just wanted to know if you’re okay?_ No, it was exactly the sort of dumb thing he would do when he was sixteen. Besides, it looked like the Veretian was in a rush.

Damen watched him step onto the escalator descending into the underground station, slipping quickly past the other passengers as only his slim frame could allow. He was just about to turn and leave, when he saw a single sheet of paper fall out from the books he carried in his arms. It was windy that day too, not quite gale-force as sometimes it could be in winter, but still prone to sudden gusts. The little note was swiftly hefted up, becoming a glimmer of white in the air as it sailed overhead a group of giggling girls. Damen turned around to chase after it. He had to squeeze through the crowd, which slowed him quite a bit because most of them were heading to the train station instead of away from. After a few turns in the air, it came fluttering down to the ground, skittering along the pavement. Several of Damen’s attempts to clamp down on it failed. Finally, he leaped for it just before it got swept onto the road. His luck held, and he caught it.

A fleeting moment of triumph coursed through him, despite the ridiculousness of the situation, followed closely by vague half-formed thoughts of seeing the stranger again. But that soon dissipated into disappointment, dull as a grey cloud hung around too long. After walking through all four platforms of the station, Damen was forced to accept that he had lost him again. There weren’t even words for it. How do you lose something you never had? It was an insubstantial, flimsy thread of connection made up of only a few disconnected moments in time. A different person would have put it at the back of their mind and moved on.

Leaning against one of the walls of the station, Damen shrugged off his coat and slung it over his arm. All the walking had warmed him up. He dusted the dirt off the paper, smoothed it out, then held it up to the light. A series of scribbles in neat, cursive handwriting stared back at him.

  
_I’m here, Brother. Just like you told me I would visit one day. Sorry it is six months late. The weather is as good as you promised, even in winter, but I miss Arles very much. I miss seeing the snow._

* 

_Sometimes, everything just seems so stale and flat, lifeless in my imagination and worse on the page. I try to hold on to the ideas, only to have them become incorporeal and slip through my fingers. I know what you would say, but will I forget one day?_

*

_If I had moved up here earlier, we would have been at your favourite café drinking this rubbish that Marlas calls coffee. I wish I did. I’ve thought about it more times than I can count. I would do anything to have one more day with you like that._

*

_Brother, I wish I can tell you that it is ready now. I’m excited, a little. I know you will be proud of me. You were always there for me even when I wasn’t any good._

*

_Brother, I miss you. I miss you so much. I would trade everything I have to get you back._  


**  
IV   
**

Damen’s parents (mostly his mother) had been pestering him to visit for some weeks now. They lived three hours away from Marlas, closer to the forests hills that bordered between Akielos and Patras. At this time of the year, wildflowers bloomed in abundance all over the hills, both scattered over the forest floor and humbly along the streets. The colors of spring were stunning; luscious reds, sunny yellows, deep violets, and blues and pinks, and Damen knew this because his mother had been sending him a steady stream of pictures from their walks. He knew that in a few more weeks, the colors would start fading, becoming less vibrant at first, and then it would all dry up when summer came. The Akielon heat, though milder here in Delpha, would still scorch the tips of the branches and leaves. 

Anyway, Damen really could be a better son. He wasn’t actually that busy, though he had been, in recent weeks, slightly more... preoccupied. In the moments before sleep came, he found himself thinking of long elegant fingers pressing pen to paper, of what it felt like pouring words out onto a page, living with a grief that squeezed at your lungs and cut into your chest. When he drank his morning coffee, he thought of another coffee cup, untouched and alone. The lost, bewildered look in the Veretian’s eyes made sense now. Damen ached for him, for the vast unfairness of having a beloved brother taken from his side.

In the morning before the sun was up, Damen thought for the first time about what it would be like if Kastor was gone, suddenly, one day. He thought about his parents living just one drive away in Delpha, even though they preferred the cooler weather further South. All because both their sons were in Marlas. He decided to head down that weekend. 

Since Damen did not visit often, he would usually ask if they needed anything that he could get them, and his mother, the more organised of the two, would write him a list. This usually meant that Damen stopped by a large mall to try to get as many things on the list as he could.

First, he went to the kitchenware store, pondering over glasses of several different designs before choosing something simple. Simple was good; his parents’ tastes leaned towards the traditional Akielon preference for plain things. He saw a set of expensive knives that he heard were very good, so he bought that too. He bought the tea and coffee that they wanted, and also the fancy Veretian coffee they probably would not appreciate, but perhaps if they tried it they would like it. Without realising, his arm had become laden with several shopping bags. He told himself he could always bring something back if they didn’t want it, but of course, he never would have bothered with that sort of hassle. Nik or Pallas or someone else might have some use for it if he didn’t.

As Damen walked past the bookshop, he looked in regretfully, sure that he was carrying too many things to be browsing comfortably. His life ran in the same patterns all the time – too many books to read and no time to read them all. It didn’t stop him from throwing a wistful glance at the ‘New Fiction’ table and whatever was being spotlighted in the shop window.

He stopped up short. 

He didn’t drop his bags, which was a near thing. There, in the window was a picture of a painting. A wintry landscape with a homely little cottage. But as breathtaking as the picture was, it was in fact the tiny photograph of the author at the bottom right that caught Damen’s eye. A face that had circled in Damen’s thoughts, haunted his dreams, and made him feel too many things. He looked different there, younger. One golden braid coiled around his neck, and he smiled with a bright surprise as if someone familiar had just caught him off guard. 

The book on display was an illustrated children’s picture book, titled ‘A Summer Day in Winter’.

Damen’s stranger’s name was Laurent de Veré.

There was something different about looking at art when you knew the artist, or knew a little bit about the artist. Damen looked over the painting again. White grey hues were richly layered over each other in short strokes making up the winter scene. The snow covered all over undulating hills, blending into three or four shadowy alien shapes of white. They should have seemed threatening, except their expressions were composed of only a vague child-like curiosity as they stared at the cottage, warm and glowing from the inside. Next to the cottage was a wooden sign in the shape of an arrow. It read, ‘This way to Summer’. Something about it perfectly captured a kind of loneliness and longing, and was also quirky enough to leave the reader imagining more.

He bought the picture book. _Laurent was an artist, and a writer!_ Damen couldn’t stop going over the new found knowledge, his mind buzzing with the excitement that came from finding that missing puzzle piece long after you had stopped looking for it. It was a long drive to his parents’ place. 

While Damen would have liked to flip through his new purchase, he ended up being occupied for the entirety of the day. Mother wanted to hear every aspect about his life, and Nik’s, who was practically a third son. And had Damen been seeing Kastor lately? Has he proposed to Jo yet? Was Damen going to bring a girl home soon? Or a boy? It was slightly annoying how she managed to tease a lot more information out of Damen than he intended to share.

For most of the day, Damen helped out with the attic, which was his father’s latest project. He insisted on showing to Damen the ladder stairs that he had installed and how neatly it all folded up. It was actually quite impressive. Even though the flooring wasn’t quite finished – which meant that you had to be careful where you stood on – he wanted to start connecting the wiring for the lights. But Mother disapproved of the last bit and wasn’t having any of it.

“I told him,” She said, “that he should get a proper electrician. But as you know, your father just wants to do everything his own way. Can you imagine, the mess _I_ have to deal with if he got himself fried? –” She sent her husband a glare that could have withered anyone, but he bore it with same stubbornness that Damen sometimes recognised in himself. They bickered on, until, as it was usual between them, his mother got her way. Ah, he loved his parents. 

For the rest of the evening, they talked, then ate, then ate some more. The day went by quicker than Damen expected, so that it was only late at night, crammed into the room he stayed in through his teenage years, that he remembered the picture book again. A little spark of excitement flared as he took it out. He was careful to flip through the pages gently. 

Each page was a masterpiece of a painting, accompanied by some words. Each page felt like a part of Laurent that he couldn’t wait to get to know.

_Some days I shiver in winter_

_Some days I don’t want to get out of bed_

_Some days I hide in cupboards_

_Some days it’s too cold to go out and play_

_Some days there’s too much rain to face the world_

_Even Benny stays in his kennel!_

_But some days,_

_There’s a little sun,_

_The water is just right_

_And it’s like summer again_  


The very last page folded out into two pages. Two worlds were fused into one as if the fabric between both realities had become gauzy and thin, and each leaked into the other. The homely little cottage had dark-wood walls that extended into blue skies and a soaring seagull. From its ceiling hung three dangling light bulbs that became little suns, casting a warm golden glow everywhere. A little boy with eyes as blue as the ocean lay serenely on a rug of sand as waves licked at his arm, and beside him, Benny the golden retriever, splashed happily in a puddle. Outside the window, it was still winter, and one little alien animal, with long ears floppy like a bunny, peeked in curiously.

That night, Damen dreamt of iridescent blue eyes containing the rough seas of Ios, and of a cool salt-scented breeze blowing against his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The diary section in the middle is inspired by this amazing fic, [No secrets between us](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14853983), where canon au Laurent very heartbreakingly writes down his thoughts. If you haven’t read it you MUST!! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"On the crest of a wave is where I wanna be. We're sailing the wildest mystery." _\- Sailing, Leisure Cruise.__

_24/9/2018. Acclaimed Veretian artist Laurent de Veré has released photographs of a new oil painting titled “On the cusp of a wave” that will be part of an upcoming exhibition. As its name suggests, it depicts an enormous wave surging up in the middle of the ocean, frozen in that moment just before it crashes over. This is a work that is darkly evocative and full of symbolism, so much so that one can almost feel it come alive. “I am interested in emotions,"de Veré said, "I am interested in the feelings that are buried deep but poised to surge up and tip over the edge at any time.” When asked if it was a statement on Vere’s soon to be held referendum on the global emissions target, he said slyly, ”It would be timely if it was, wouldn’t it?”_

** V **

Over the next few months, Laurent de Veré became Damen’s newest interest, or as Nik preferred to call it, Damen’s newest obsession. He bought every book Laurent published, eager to find out what other worlds resided in Laurent’s mind. Some were full of whimsical adventures. There was one with a maze of curved bookshelves repeating infinitely into darkness, each book meticulously colored in, and with nonsense titles like “To somewhere from someone.” He wondered if Laurent loved reading, if he lost himself in books or if he spent his childhood perpetually covered in paint. How much time did he dwell in imaginary worlds? Did he find solace in them when his brother died? 

The books weren’t enough. Damen hungered to know the person. On the internet, he found no twitter or instagram, no social media at all. Laurent was something of a recluse. The closest thing to a window into Laurent’s thoughts were some articles he had written on his website. More like essays actually, complete with lists of references at the end. The topics were diverse, from fostering creativity in young children, to the relationship between art and gender, touching especially on non-binary gender. 

Laurent was openly gay. 

Damen didn’t know why he felt different knowing that. It wasn’t as if he stood a chance. He and Laurent were people in different worlds, who didn’t know each other, hadn’t even met except in passing. It was still nice to know that that they had something in common though. Someone with Laurent’s beauty would not be single of course. Men would be tripping over themselves to court him. Or perhaps Laurent was already married. At least then, he would have someone with him when his brother died.

After searching around a bit, Damen found out what happened. It felt strange to be reading about the death of Auguste de Veré, like he was a spectator to someone else’s trauma. But curiosity triumphed over the guilt, and he devoured all the content he could find.

Auguste, it turned out, was a lawyer and also a local emergency service volunteer. He died in a plane crash along with a Veretian pilot and two Akielon volunteers during a search and rescue mission in Dice a year ago. A combination factors had not been on their side – a storm had started brewing when they took off, then one of the engines failed. Though the pilot did his best to perform an emergency landing, the plane had bounced and caught on fire as they landed, eventually causing an explosion. It was incredibly tragic timing, especially as it sounded as if Laurent had planned to move to Marlas, perhaps so he could live in the same city as his brother. As Damen had suspected, the brothers were very close, closer than he and Kastor could ever dreamed of being. Auguste was so devoted to his brother that he chose to live two months of every year in Arles. Damen’s heart broke for Laurent again. 

Spring passed uneventfully. Damen had been dating a sweet girl who was friends with Lazar, but that ended with the turn of summer. Even though Damen was the one that ended things, he still felt a little guilty remembering the way tears had pooled in her eyes as she turned away from him. He wasn’t that young anymore, and for the first time he wondered if he would never find a relationship that felt right.

Nik dragged him out to a bar one night, adamant that he needed to stop moping about at home. They managed to snag an outdoor spot, perfect with the night all cooled down. The music was loud and throbbing in his ears, but it was a familiar comfort. 

“Honestly, I was kind of surprised you lasted that long with Lykaios,” Nik said. 

“I really wanted things to work out,” Damen said, thinking of all the times she had smiled and nodded to him, her blond curls bouncing about her shoulders. But the truth was they had very little in common. 

“Well, she’s rather tame.” Nik shrugged. “Like a little kitten. You need someone who can match your intensity. Someone who plays on your level.”

Damen frowned. “You’re saying I like a challenge? Please, I’m not that immature.”

“I mean that you’re passionate, Damen. Once you’re in love, you’re obsessively in love, to the point where I think you’re a little mad.” Nik finished the rest of his drink, and set it down with a thud. “You weren’t like that with her. Nor she with you.”

“I was perfectly nice to her.” Damen said, not sure why he felt the need to explain himself. “She was happy too, until uh the end.” 

“That’s because you have a big heart. Even a little bit from you seems like a lot. I think that when you fall in love with all of your heart, that is when you will be truly happy.”

Damen thought about it. It sounded nice. 

For some reason, a pair of azure blue eyes came to mind. Maybe it was because Nik said something about being obsessive, which by the way, no, he wasn’t obsessive about Laurent. He just, well, admired him. It was a shame Lykaios hadn’t been interested in art at all.

“...the way, you didn’t tell me that Laurent de Veré is blond.” Nik was saying.

Damen startled, “What?” He hoped he hadn’t been thinking aloud. Not that he had any reason to hide what he was thinking. 

Nik rolled his eyes. “Guess what I saw at the bookshop today?” 

“Books?” Damen said drily.

“Ha!” Nik snorted. “You know how they sometimes hold author talks and signings and things like that in there? Anyway, your favourite blond artist is going to be visiting.”

“Today?” Damen said, surprised. He didn’t remember seeing any news about that.

“No, I just saw one of those advertisements. Now that I’ve seen him, I completely understand...” 

So many things passed through Damen’s mind. He could actually meet Laurent de Veré, the incredibly talented, beautiful, and accomplished Laurent de Veré, possibly the most amazing person on the planet. 

“… week. _Are you listening to me?_ ” 

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Damen said hurriedly. 

Nik was rolling his eyes again, giving him an all too familiar look of exasperation.

“ Listen – don’t do anything stupid. Don’t scare the dude off. Whatever you’re thinking of, just don’t.”

“Of course, what do you think I am?!” Damen retorted.

** +1 **

There were little elves jumping up and down in Damen’s stomach. There must be because there was simply no other reason for the way his insides flopped about. For goodness sake, he told himself, it was nothing. He would just get one of his books signed, and that was all, and maybe just well, see that Laurent was doing okay, maybe offer his condolences. Or maybe not, because maybe some people prefer not to be reminded of their grief, right? He supposed he should return that diary page, but would Laurent be mad at him for having read it? Maybe he should just pretend it never existed. Or maybe he should hide it among Laurent’s things. Yes, that was a good idea. 

When he arrived at the bookshop, he was surprised to find that there was a queue, snaked outside the bookshop and all along the street. There were adults and also children of different ages. It probably shouldn’t have been so surprising though when he thought about it.

The queue moved along until Damen caught a glimpse of the same familiar face. Laurent looked happier this time, smiling at each person who came up to him, his lips moving, speaking words that Damen could not make out. All of his movements seemed elegant and precise; the way he opened a page so carefully as if it was someone’s prized possession. It probably was. 

Damen went forward when it was his turn.

“Hello!” He grinned, “I really admire all of your work!” 

Laurent smiled, earnest and a little self-conscious. It was sweet, knowing he must get the same kind of line all the time. 

“Thank you. What’s your name?” Laurent asked. 

“Uh, Damianos, but I mean, everyone calls me Damen.”

Laurent had already flipped over the cover and his pen was poised to write. He laughed softly, his face lighting up in a way that was utterly mesmerising, “Damianos or Damen? Which one will it be?”

“Oh! Right!” Damen said, feeling his face heat. He had never had anything signed before, so didn’t realise what Laurent meant. “Uh Damen then.”

“D-A-M-E-N?”

“Yes.”

Laurent’s pen began scratching away a message just as a golden lock of hair fell over his forehead. Up close, he was more beautiful than any of the pictures Damen had seen.

Damen suddenly realised that there was no way to return the diary page to Laurent without him noticing. There were two security guards to each side, watching his every move. The plan was over. It was a stupid plan anyway. He was going to tuck it away and find another chance.

He dropped it. 

It landed at Laurent’s feet and Laurent was already bending over to pick it up. 

Damen panicked. “It’s for you,” he said, “I mean it’s yours.”

At first, Laurent looked puzzled, and then as recognition hit, his face froze and his smile died away. 

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Damen said softly. 

Laurent didn’t reply. Slowly, he placed it on the table. When he looked up, all traces of his previous good humour vanished. 

“Where did you get this?” He said, his tone icy.

“I – you dropped it, at a train station. I tried to find you, but didn’t manage to.”

Laurent’s eyes changed, softened. “Thank you –” he said, stiffly, “for returning it.” He turned the slip over as if about to keep it away.

Damen felt himself flush red. There on the bottom corner of the page, were his own words, which he had completely forgotten he had written in several months ago. How did he not see it? _Dear stranger, I’m so sorry you lost someone important. I wish there is something I can do for you._

Laurent raised one quizzical eyebrow at him. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Damen said sheepishly, hoping his skin color would hide the flush that must be spreading over his face, “Ignore that. I didn’t know who you were. I didn’t think I would see you again.”

“You didn’t – ” Laurent said, his lips parting as if he were about to say more, and then he pressed them closed. 

“I see,” he said seriously. 

Mortified, and sure that this was not the encounter he imagined, Damen muttered something that was meant to be ‘Nice to meet you,” but likely came out more garbled than that. It was too awkward to linger. 

“Wait,” Laurent said. 

Damen turned back. His book. Of course. His book was still on the table. 

Laurent held it up extended towards him. He said, “If you leave it behind, I’m afraid I might have to scribble on it too.” A faint smile played on his lips. Damen had not fled from anyone so quickly before.

Afterwards, there was a talk. The bookshop had shut at some point throughout the book signing, so everything had grown quieter. Outside, the sun was fast disappearing, making the old-fashioned street lamps seem more prominent in the dark. They were Veretian styled, and like anything Veretian, instantly made a place more beautiful and romantic. 

A large space at the children’s section had been cleared, though it was still a tight fit for everyone. Damen stood at the very back, conscious of his height, while the younger children sat in front. Laurent, interestingly, had opted to sit on the floor, making the whole thing a lot more informal than Damen had expected. 

“Hello,” Laurent said, “thank you for coming.” He didn’t speak loudly, but his voice carried clearly across the space. Someone’s child, perhaps two or three years old, had clambered close to Laurent, much to her parents’ consternation. Laurent watched for a little while, amused, then reached behind him to pull out an ink pen. It was met with some delighted cooing before two tiny hands closed eagerly around it. 

“This is how I lose my things all the time,” Laurent said to the audience, garnering a few laughs. 

“Well, I thought I would start off with some of the initial sketches for A Summer Day in Winter, and also some of the ideas that didn’t quite make the cut. Hopefully you’re interested in that?” – several nods went around, as well as a few enthusiastic ‘Yes’s – “Great! And then maybe we’ll read through the book. Don’t worry it won’t take long.” Laurent winked charmingly, “I’ll take some questions at the end.” 

Laurent spoke the way he wrote: articulate, and to the point. It was all very fascinating to Damen, who had never known before how circuitous and arduous the creative process was. The book reading was a success with the children, who hung about his every word, and gathered even closer. Laurent was a wonderful storyteller, pausing at the right moments, sometimes deviating from the text to spin up stories for all the little details in the picture. It all went smoothly until the question and answer session. 

A short little man standing next to Damen asked the first question.

‘Who did you sleep with to get your book published?”

The room fell into shocked silence. A needle falling to the ground could probably be heard.

Laurent’s eyes narrowed. “The real question is,” he said, not wasting a beat, “who did you _not_ sleep with? Which _must_ be everybody, because I cannot think of anyone who can find a shred of interest in someone with the face of a goose and the brain of a shrimp.”

“With a pretty face like that it’s obvious you –”

Damen punched him.

If he had thought about it – which he should have – then he would have noticed the four burly security guards advancing through the parted crowd. But in that moment, all he could think of was that he couldn’t bear to hear another insulting word against Laurent. When he remembered himself again, his arms were tightly restrained behind his back and all around him were shocked faces.

 _Don’t do anything stupid._ It was the worst time to remember Nik’s words.

They dragged the other man off, kicking and screaming obscenities, mostly directed towards Damen. Someone announced loudly that it was the end of the session, and everyone was ushered out. Damen had to stay behind as a greying Veretian gave him a very stern lecture about young Akielons and their hero complexes. Luckily, the manager was sufficiently mollified by Damen’s apologies and let him go with one final glare.

Damen stepped outside, relieved only that he hadn’t been thrown out humiliatingly. Even the beautiful night view, the river beyond the paved walkway faintly shimmering from the lamplight could not cheer him up. He stared at his shoes morosely until he heard a voice.

“That was not very wise.” It was Laurent, arms crossed, and leaning against the storefront. 

“I have never been very wise.” Damen mumbled. “Sorry, sorry for –” he waved a hand indistinctly— “for everything.”

A slight smile pulled up the corners of Laurent’s lips. “On the contrary,” he said – he dropped his voice to a whisper - “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

Damen stared at him. 

“But it’s different for me.” Laurent’s smile grew as he watched Damen, which made Damen think it amused him to surprise others. “I confess it was very satisfying to watch. There, I’ve said it.” His eyes twinkled with mischief.

Damen let out a breath of half laughter, a little incredulous. “It was my fault.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes, grimacing. His hand ached. “I don’t think you are supposed to encourage me.”

“I can do whatever I want.” Laurent said, shrugging. “Although,” he added thoughtfully, “It _is_ your fault that I did not get to compare more than one of his body parts to the size of a shrimp.” 

Damen felt his eyes go wide, properly scandalised. “That’s – you –”

Laurent laughed, a sound like bells carried away by the night breeze. “Well, I’ll be going now.” He pushed off from the wall. “Goodnight Damen.”

Damen’s knuckles felt bruised and sore, but he had made Laurent de Veré laugh. He couldn’t stop grinning like an idiot all the way home. He couldn’t stop reading over and over the inscription of his signed book either.

_Dear Damen,_

_May you have all the summer days you wish in every season._

_Laurent De Veré_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the 5+1 story is supposed to end, but...... I'm self indulgent over here what can I say, I wrote a whole thing about how they got together. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"You touch me, I hear the sound of mandolins. And you kiss me, with your kiss my life begins."_ \- Wild is the wind, Cat Power

Summer was a cauldron of fire poured onto the earth. The afternoons were the worst, with the sun’s rays determined to arrow into skin and the air choked up with heat, forcing everyone to seek shade and air conditioned buildings whenever they could. The nights were different though. These were the picture of Akielon summer, printed on tourism ads and written about in articles with titles like “Top 10 Holiday Destinations”, enticing both locals and visitors with artisan markets, outdoor cinemas, midnight dance festivals, and other general revelry. If that were not enough, then the pristine beaches of Ios were several degrees cooler than the inland cities, and only a weekend trip away. 

For Damen, somehow, all the summer entertainment seemed a shade duller than before. The days stretched out longer, and were suffused with a vague longing. Not for Laurent – that was something he couldn’t have - but it was, in a way, related to Laurent. Even after his obsession had calmed from its height, there had been something pure about Laurent‘s art that stuck with him; An innocence of emotion perhaps, or an assertion to life, maybe it was the way it celebrated living fearlessly. It tugged at a corner of Damen’s heart, drawing out a desire to feel everything deeply, to have the freedom of summer to be a child again. Even if he had a job, a mortgage and a million responsibilities.

If Damen’s life were a train going along the tracks - with twists and turns but always staying within the lines - then Laurent’s repeated presence was the barrage of little stones that came rolling down the hill at it, slowly derailing it off the path. And sometimes, all it takes is one chance encounter, at the right time, at the right place, to effect the largest change.

It happened on a day where things seemed determined to fall apart. Literally. First, the air conditioner broke down, which was quite a big deal in summer, and Damen scrambled to try to fix it. Then, the backyard door, which Damen knew had needed sanding down for quite some time, had chosen that same day to become stuck on its hinges. Summer did not bode quite so well for old appliances and overheated doors. By the time Damen managed to get them working, he was covered in sweat and dust. All he could think of was the smooth, concentrated chill of a cold brew coffee, preferably one that he did not have to make himself and wait overnight for it to strain. Café d’Arles was close enough anyway. Damen took his second shower of the day, tossed on a cap to shield himself against the afternoon sun, and headed out. 

At lunchtime, Café d’Arles was bustling, and the air-conditioned interior very much welcome. Damen leaned against the most uncrowded part of the counter as he waited for his cold coffee, his eyes passing over the wide space dotted sparingly with tables. There were one or two locals he recognised and nodded to. It was nice to be outside among people. Much better than being stuck at home, fixing one broken thing after another. He beamed when the café owner, Mer – Mercedes – waved at him. She tossed her braids behind her shoulder as she made her way over, then launched into a rant about Govart, the local drunk, making trouble at the cafe. It was nothing new. In fact, the police had been called on him several times in this area, but Govart never did anything that got him locked up for long, so they all had to put up with his troublemaking antics here. 

“I wasn’t prepared for it,” Mer said, “but he’s not getting off so easy next time.” 

Mer said this with an expression of quiet steel that reminded Damen of a slumbering snake, silent but lethal. His father had never liked Veretians, and this was probably why. Damen understood them though, even if he did not agree with all their methods. He sipped his coffee as he walked home, revelling in the sinful bitter taste that washed over his tongue.

Walking along the shops, Damen became suddenly aware of several things, that, when considered all together set off his alarm bells; first, that Govart was some distance ahead of him, his lumbering hulk ploughing ahead with purpose; second, that he seemed to be tracing someone’s footsteps; and third, that someone was Laurent. All this crashed with the recollection that Mer did say Govart had been making unwelcome advances to a beautiful young man. 

As Damen left the shopping street behind, the sidewalk reduced to just the three of them next to the traffic speeding past. Govart was closing the distance.

Unable to stay silent anymore, Damen called out, “Laurent!”

Laurent stopped and turned. His eyes quickly assessed the situation behind him before narrowing entirely on Govart. There must have been a pause of only a second before Laurent acted, taking the two steps to advance on Govart. Damen’s jaw dropped as he watched Laurent smash a fist into his face. It came as a total shock to Damen who manage to catch only a glimpse of ferocious outrage on Laurent’s face, before Govart staggered backwards into Damen. 

He shoved Govart down and out of the way even as Govart tried to cling on with drunken hands. They grappled until Damen was able to rid himself of him, stepping clear at the first opportunity he got. 

Laurent was frozen where he stood, staring at Damen with wide eyes as if his actions from before had just caught on and he didn’t know what to do now. 

“Go, go!” Damen yelled at him, who thankfully, did begin run. In spite of the situation, Damen noticed that Laurent was a surprisingly good runner, setting a good pace, but also pacing himself in a measured way.

They kept going, side by side down the open street, warm air rushing past their faces. The gruelling pace made sweat roll down the side of Damen’s face in streaks. When he glanced behind him, it was in dismay to find that Govart was still following them at a distance, an enraged stubborn bull that would not give up. 

Laurent’s face was flushed with exertion when Damen threw a glance at him. 

“I may have... panicked…” Laurent said between breaths, “…and taken a leaf... out of your book.”

Are you serious, Damen wanted to say, breathless. He was still embarrassed over what happened the last time they met, having come to the miserable conclusion that there was always going to be a part of him that acted without thinking. 

Instead, he found himself saying, a little giddily, “You remember me!”

Laurent laughed a little. “You don’t think?!” He said. Damen grinned back at him, forgetting for a moment, that this was not just any person beside him, that this was not a totally bizarre circumstance to meet, well, Laurent.

What Govart planned to do when he caught up with them was not difficult to discern, though his capability was questionable given his inebriated state. Perhaps they should head towards somewhere crowded so that there would be witnesses and help available. The train station, Damen thought, wasn’t too far away, and suited this purpose quite well.

But Laurent had other ideas. “There!” He pointed towards an unassuming alleyway. He led them to a large yellow dumpster bin, then, turning to Damen, he said, “Can you climb?” 

The bin came up to slightly higher than Damen’s waist only. “Yeah I mean, but -“

“Help me up.” Laurent’s tone brooked no arguments. 

Damen tried not to think too much about the fact that he was putting his hands on Laurent’s waist, feeling the denim of his jeans rough against his palms. After Laurent scrambled up, Damen pushed himself on and followed. It became apparent what Laurent was aiming for. Behind the bin was a short rectangular pipe that led up to the rooftops. They could hide there for a bit and just wait for Govart to go. It was a terribly complicated way to go about solving this Govart problem, and definitely would not be Damen’s strategy at all. But he couldn’t deny that it was a sound, relatively harmless plan.

Laurent climbed quickly, pulling himself up with an upper body strength that was not immediately apparent to Damen. It only took a minute before Laurent was expertly flipping himself over the top. 

When Damen craned his neck to look, he saw, incredulously, that Laurent was running along the middle of the roof. He might as well be a wraith dancing on a beam, treating danger as if it never existed. Damen could only feel a cold fear coil at the pit of his stomach, almost freezing his insides. 

“Be careful!” Damen called out, horrified.

Laurent backtracked with ease. Nothing in his countenance suggested he was anything but relaxed. He peered over the edge to look down at Damen. His smile was brilliant. A wild exhilarated look glowed in his eyes.

The realisation struck. “You’ve done this before,” Damen heard himself say.

“Trust me,” was all Laurent said, and then he was off.

It was incongruous and surreal to Damen, whose thoughts, just a moment ago, had all been centered on the worry that Govart might stumble into the alleyway and the plan to lose him would fail.

Damen pulled himself up as quick as he could using all his gym-honed muscles. It was not difficult; there were helpful handholds along the way - Laurent, either through luck or skill had chosen the location well. It felt strange though, to be using his body in a different way, having long gotten used to a life where the majority of his days were spent navigating office politics. 

When Damen pulled himself up, he immediately saw that in between each of the sloping sides of the roof was a sort of gutter almost as wide as his shoulders. It was actually quite easy to walk on, or run if you were Laurent. Having lived in Marlas for most of his life, he had never even known that Veretian houses had different roofs than Akielon ones.

Laurent waited for him up ahead, beckoning him with eyes that promised mischief and merriment. He led them over the rooftops, dodging chimneys and crossing the different levels. Once, he pointed out a child’s shoe that laid abandoned on the tiles of a short stunted house. The sun descended down on them in full force and in every angle, as if the sky itself was cocooning over them and over the residential houses of Marlas.

Trepidation had turned into exhilaration. Damen had never done anything like that for a long time, not since he was a child. His stomach swooped violently and his heart beat like fireworks. He focused only on following the ghost-like figure in front of him, on the gold beacon of hair turned blinding in the light. Govart was all but forgotten. 

When they reached the end of the row of Veretian houses, and there was no where else to go, Laurent sat down. 

“I guess we should stay here for a while,” Laurent said, pressing a palm to a flushed cheek, and wiping the sheen of sweat away. “I keep forgetting how hot the summers are in Marlas.” 

Laurent had the kind of fair skin that would probably burn after a short while with this sun. It was probably why he was clad in a silk-thin shirt that covered every inch of his arms. On impulse, Damen took his cap off and pressed it onto Laurent’s head. He smiled at the way it pasted Laurent’s hair over his forehead. 

“I - what about you?” Laurent stared at him.

“I grew up here,” Damen shrugged. “My skin will fair better than yours.”

“Thank you,” Laurent said, after a beat. 

The air grew quiet as they took in the view of the city from above, watching the people from the main street walk about like little figurines. 

“This is one of the few streets in Marlas that have Veretian roofs.” Laurent said, filling in the silence. “It’s from an old design where people used to collect rainwater. There would be a large tub at the end, and all the rain would just flow through here and get collected,” He pointed. “When I was a child, my brother and I used to play on the roofs. We knew Arles from the rooftops, which ones were the widest and easiest to run on, and which ones you could listen to the juiciest gossip.” 

Damen smiled at the picture of a young Laurent and his brother getting up to shenanigans. “You didn’t get in trouble with your parents? I would have got into so much shit with mine. ”

“It was just my brother and I,” Laurent said, waving away the apology on the edge of Damen’s lips. “As soon as Auguste was twenty-one, he could access our inheritance and we moved away from my uncle.”

It seemed a miracle that Laurent could talk endlessly like that, and with Damen of all people. Laurent spoke about his brother, about how he visited Auguste for two months a year in Marlas, and how they would get coffee just there, at Cafe d’Arles. Afterwards they would sit like this on the roof for hours, just talking. 

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” Laurent said, pressing his hands to the tiles in front of him, his knuckles losing some of their color. 

“Do you miss him?” Damen said.

A deep breath. “Everyday, all the time.”

Damen had to swallow against the lump that had come up. He remembered the envy he felt of the bond between Laurent and his brother. He remembered aching for Laurent, for the sudden loss that turned his life on its head. Damen’s hands closed tight around a tile that he had picked up previously, feeling the edges press into his palm.

Laurent’s voice came then, soft, almost a whisper. “If I close my eyes and you keep quiet, I could pretend he’s still here with me.” 

Damen watched as Laurent lifted his head and faced forward, shutting himself away from the world. A smile grew on his face, transforming it into something carefree and serene. His hair was platinum when the sun hit, plastered down the sides of his face under Damen’s cap. It was hard to watch, but also hard to look away from.

After a while, Laurent’s eyes fluttered open. His blue eyes met Damen’s again. 

“You must think I’m mad,” Laurent said, although the amused lilt in his voice said he didn’t care what anyone thought of him.

“No, I think you’re true,” Damen said. The words just came out. Perhaps that had always been the thing about Laurent that Damen couldn’t look away from. Every time he saw Laurent in person, and every time he looked at Laurent’s art.

“True -” Laurent blinked, seeming to furl inwards to himself as he glanced down at his lap. His brow was furrowed. “That is the first time anyone has called me that.” He mused. The introspection lasted only a moment, and then Laurent was looking up at him, studying his face, almost as if he was seeing him for the first time. They were so close that Damen could see the center of gold in his eyes. He looked away a little, afraid that he might stare at Laurent for too long or maybe afraid of what Laurent was seeing. 

“Tell me something you’ve never told anyone,” He heard Laurent say.

Laurent was smiling at him, a little shy but entirely genuine, and very gentle. Absurdly, Damen remembered the way Laurent was good with children, was kind to them and understood them. 

What had he not told anyone? Damen thought about it. He was practically an open book, never being one to keep secrets for as long as he can remember.

“I’ve seen you at Cafe d’Arles before.” Damen said, feeling his face flush a little. He had never told anyone about it, not even Nikandros. There was, actually, nothing to tell about it as well. He didn’t understand it himself, why Laurent stayed in his mind when others did not, why he felt a connection with him, and why Laurent kept stumbling into his life or Damen kept crossing over and over in his. It felt transgressive to think too much about it so he often pushed these questions out of his mind.

Damen kept his eyes fixed on the tile in front of him, one side of it blackened with dust. He rubbed a finger at it, smearing the dirt around. 

“It must have been six months ago now,” said Damen, thinking of that day he shivered in the cold, waiting for the bus. “You looked... sad, and I wanted to ask if you were okay. Then I thought it would be weird, so I didn’t.” 

He chanced a look at Laurent then, finding, to his relief, that Laurent did not look displeased. He simply listened, serious and attentive, which gave Damen the courage to continue on. 

“I saw you again a few weeks later. And I did come up to you then. But you probably don’t remember me.”

The silence that opened up was filled with monsters of Damen’s imagination. One of them was the ridiculous notion that Laurent might stand up, tall and terrible, and push him off the roof. 

“You must think I’m mad.” Damen said softly, echoing Laurent’s words. 

The only sounds were the chitterings of birds from the next block where trees lined the streets. 

“No more than I am,” Laurent whispered. 

Surprise. Relief. A rush of the wind inside his chest. Damen looked at Laurent to find him smiling, a soft slight smile, nothing but understanding in his eyes. God, his eyes were truly beautiful. That was when the second rush of wind knocked his heart askew. He sat there, frozen, letting Laurent study him, openly looking over his face. Laurent’s eyes could have pierced all the way into his soul.

The moment ended all too soon. “I think we can get off the roof now.” Laurent said. 

“What?” Damen had almost forgotten why he was sitting on the roof with the sun at its height glaring down upon them. 

They made their way down after Laurent assessed the possible routes in a remarkably quick fashion, and then worked out the logistics of which way to go. Of course Damen had to walk him to his car, to make sure he saw him off safe. They didn’t run into Govart again along the way, thankfully.

“Your hat,” Laurent said, taking the cap off.

“Keep it,” Damen said, half-teasing, “as a reminder that you need one of those for summers in Marlas.”

A little lopsided smile. “Okay,” Laurent said easily, “Thank you.” Warm pleasure filled up in Damen’s chest at the thought that Laurent might wear it again. 

“This has been fun,” Laurent said, regaining some of the usual edge that Damen was familiar with. He turned towards his car.

“Wait!” Damen said, “Will I see you again?”

Laurent stopped. His cheeks were rosy, though that could have been from the heat. Then the sides of his mouth began curling up; the smile turned into silent laugher and shining eyes. 

“Well, Damen,” he said, amusement coating his words, “You seem to have good odds with that, don’t you think?”

There was shared laughter. Then there was Laurent giving him a charming impish wink. Damen wanted to always remember the sound of Laurent’s voice saying his name. He was still standing there, in the middle of the street long after Laurent had driven off.

***

They saw each other on Saturdays.

Damen would never admit to finding the slightest excuse to be at Cafe d’Arles, but that was exactly what he did. The first time they met again happened with Damen standing by the door, scanning over the interior of the cafe, and Laurent catching his eye from the corner table at the back. It was like a game they played, one that Laurent began, and Damen eagerly climbed on board. There were no rules at first, not until Laurent said he liked the cool mornings of summer best, the times when the roads were muted and the city was sleeping, and he could be just another shadow slipping about to places. From then on, Saturdays between them became an unspoken routine.

Mer teased Damen about it endlessly, and sometimes he had even caught her whispering to Laurent suspiciously; two Veretian heads held close together, one blond, one auburn. He never dared to ask either of them what they talked about. So fragile was this new reality that had sprung up, that Damen did not want to risk damaging any part of it. Laurent was the kind of person you had to be patient for. 

But Damen was also starting to get to know Laurent, actually get to know him, not just the little pieces he had gleaned in accretion over months. Laurent was charming and fun, but he was also honest, and incredibly real. He was someone that enjoyed the thrill of a rooftop getaway. He was someone that closed his eyes and cried for his brother. He was both curious and empathetic, and made Damen talk about the parts of his life that he had never told anyone before. 

Laurent wasn’t a child that covered himself in paint; he read books and trailed after the older brother he adored, almost following him into a profession he did not truly want. And when Auguste died, he came here to Marlas, exploring the places his brother loved, determined, in his own way, to keep the memories alive. Laurent was still finding his way through a new kind of life without the closest family he once had, and Damen, selfishly, hoped that he could be the one to walk alongside Laurent in whatever path he chose. 

Summer came and went. Autumn skipped through town like a girl who didn’t have time to stop to chat. One day, they stood outside with the sun shining in their eyes, the cold gnawing against their coats. Damen waited for Laurent to leave first, but he stood there, just regarding Damen. To have Laurent look at him like that did something to Damen’s heart. Stopped it maybe. He tried to ignore the strange ache, remembering all the times he had told himself that he would honour and treasure this connection he had with Laurent, no matter what came of it.

“Why are you still here?” Laurent said, breaking Damen out of his thoughts. His tone was light.

Damen’s lips parted but he found that he couldn’t speak. With Damen’s hesitation, Laurent’s smile faltered. There was a flash of something nervous and uncertain in his eyes. And Damen _knew_. It was this that sparked the next torrent of feelings, a nerve-wrecking rush, all of it balanced on a needlepoint. There were a million directions to fall, to fail. 

_Because I can listen to you all day_

_Because time disappears when I’m with you_

_Because you’ve taken me to places, and I would follow you wherever you go_

_Because…_

He wouldn’t let himself think the words. There was never anything he wanted more or was more afraid of losing.

Honesty won out. When it came down to it, they were always honest with each other. 

“Because,” Damen whispered, “Because I want to be.”

All of him was laid bare, as if he had just handed Laurent a whip that could flay the skin from his back. 

Laurent’s lips parted into a little ‘o’. His eyes had grown wide, searching Damen’s face, just as Damen searched his, wishing for some clue, something to tell him that Laurent felt the same. 

They stared at each other. Damen saw it happen in stages; the way Laurent’s throat rolled; the bewilderment turning into acceptance; the moment he made the decision to leap off the precipice, and trust that the universe will catch him. 

Laurent’s gaze dropped to Damen’s lips. 

A wild surge spread through Damen’s chest like a fire consuming a forest. He thought if he tried to speak now, nothing sensible would come out. His eyes fell to Laurent’s lips involuntarily. They were pink and slightly parted. 

It was going to happen. The thing that he had tried not to let himself think. Everything he tried not to hope for. It was going to happen here, at the café where it all began. Damen kept himself still. He was going to be careful not to push Laurent for more, to let him have the control that he so often grasped at. Damen’s pulse spiked so wildly he thought the ground would shake with it.

Laurent leaned forward, inch by inch, his eyes flicking to Damen’s once, twice. The world around them slowed into nothing.

Damen closed his eyes at the last second.

That first kiss was gentle, experimental, lasting for the briefest moment, and then Laurent was pulling back, his gaze fixed on Damen, questing for answers. The brief impression of Laurent’s lips on his own was like a burn; Damen wanted to touch his fingers to his lips, to ascertain that it was all real. Slow and careful, Damen reached out to brush a single curl that fell over Laurent’s forehead. His hand rested at Laurent’s nape, and Laurent, miraculously, did not pull away. 

Damen was so, so, _so_ lucky.

They kissed again with Damen leaning in this time. He kept it short which felt right, though it was still unimaginably thrilling to feel Laurent’s lips against his own, and then later, to watch the wonder blossom in Laurent’s eyes. The rush within him was like that first downward drop of a rollercoaster, seemingly never-ending, propelling you into the unknown. Laurent stared at him nervously afterwards, his cheeks pink, until whatever he saw in Damen’s face seemed to put him at ease. Then, he gave Damen a small tentative smile, which had Damen dizzy with bliss. He knew that all he felt was there on his face, all of his elation, all of his want, all of the tenderness he longed to give. It was natural then, to reach for Laurent’s hand. Damen would remember this part vividly later, the joy in Laurent’s eyes, and the simple feeling of Laurent’s hand against his own. The two of them smiling at each other like idiots. Laurent blushing when Damen pressed a kiss against the back of his hand. 

Drunk on love and happiness, Damen texted Nik that night. _He likes me. Laurent likes me too._ Damen could only imagine Nik’s incredulous expression. His best friend had cautioned him about exactly this for months. 

_You goddamn lucky bastard_ , replied Nik. 

Things progressed quickly after that day. They made love for the first time when late night talking had turned into something more. If Damen were honest with himself he would say that he had thought of it. Having Laurent under him was going to be a heady thing, was going to drive him beyond reason. He knew only one kind of lovemaking. 

Reality was different. Reality was Laurent climbing over him, kissing him senseless, his light touches contradictorily shy. Damen hadn’t even known that this was something he could want, to be open and bare, to have Laurent set the pace for the both of them. Laurent’s eyes were blue sapphires turned into midnight as he rode him, slow, slowly, inching them unbearably towards climax. He came with Laurent clutched close to him, with the world shaking and his heart exposed. 

There was a particularly memorable time some weeks later when Damen had been exhausted with worry. News had come of his father being admitted to emergency hospital; Kastor was no where to be found. It was Laurent that had driven with him there and back within the day. When they returned, he sat beside Damen and said nothing more than, “I know, I know what it’s like.” Damen’s heart felt wrung out. He fell asleep with Laurent’s arms around him. In the morning they made love, desperation driving him in a new way, and afterwards leaving him wide open. For the first time, he was aware of how vulnerable it felt to be in love like this. He knew then, that if this thing between them didn’t work out, it would wreck him in a way he couldn’t even begin to know. To give someone else that kind of power over him was something that Damen had never experienced. He felt like he was beginning to understand why Laurent had been slow to give him his heart.

As dawn approached, Damen became aware of the sensation of silk sheets against his cheek first, and then second, the warm body pressed against his side. He shifted, luxuriating in the feel of Laurent, of the sweet friction of skin against skin. All this was still so new to him that he couldn’t help but play back the memory of the night before, when they had found release within each other, tender and intimate. His favourite moment had been in the afterwards, when Laurent curled on his side and cupped a hand on Damen’s cheek. Just the memory of it made Damen feel like his heart might burst from happiness. 

Damen’s thoughts were broken by Laurent making a sleepy sound against his chest. He had to kiss the top of Laurent’s head then. He had to inhale the scent of his hair, and tangle his fingers through it. And then Laurent was waking up, fingertips ghosting down, and down his chest, a whispered good morning lost somewhere against the crook of Damen’s neck. 

Out of nowhere, it occurred to Damen that he hadn’t minded the early winter light for some time now. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that the brightest light of his life lay beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, this is finally DONE! It’s been a whole process trying to write this, as I kept on not being satisfied with what I wrote, and then throwing out huge chunks and redoing everything. I hope you guys liked the last chapter (I had so much fun with the rooftop chase). If there is a odd emphasis on coffee, and it's uh wrong, it's probably because I don't drink coffee, and I don't even know what that stuff tastes like lol. Thank you for reading! 
> 
> I am on [tumblr](https://kazarina-writings.tumblr.com/)! <3
> 
> Edits: Credit to the lovely @xlydiadeetz for music suggestions (soundtrack of Her and The disappearance of Eleanor Rigby), which is where some of the quotes at the chapter beginnings are from.


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